The Lakeside Tragedy
by o Ventus
Summary: A prequel story set before the main game, detailing the last few days of Thomas Zane and Barbara Jagger's lives.


June 8, 1970: The water of Cauldron Lake was pure and fresh, despite the odd, somewhat black coloration. The waves rocked forward lazily as birds chirped in the nearby trees. Right in the center of the lake lay a cabin, modest in its look and unabashedly country in its interior, with plaid blankets on top of the sofa and stuffed animals decorating the rooms. In front of the cabin there was a woman resting in a lawn chair, bathing in the warm summer sun.

Out of nowhere, bubbles emerged from the depths of the lake and a figure rose from the waves, dressed in a deep brown diving suit. Awkwardly, the figure stepped onto the shore. The woman in the chair was awoken by the metal boots stomping around.

"Tom?" she asked. "Is that you?"

"It's me, Barbara," the figure said. "Can you help me get this thing off?" he asked, his voice distorted by the heavy metal helmet and respirator.

Barbara got up from her chair and stepped behind Tom, unfastening his suit and allowing him to take the helmet off. Tom was a handsome man, with short brown hair and an above-average build, which he needed to perform his frequent diving trips. Tom dug through the pockets of the suit, pulling out a handful of milky-white pearls.

"Look what I found down there, Barb," he said, showing her the pearls with a twinkle wonder in his blue eyes.

"Wow. I didn't think you could find pearls in fresh water?" she asked in amazement at the jewels.

"Me neither. There might be something special about these if they came from the lake," he said.

"What're you gonna do with 'em?" she asked.

"Don't know yet. I could probably get a good price for these somewhere in town," he said, the sun reflecting off of the pearls and onto his face. Tom took the remains of his suit around to the back porch of the cabin, laid it out to be cleaned, and went inside the cabin. Barbara folded her lawn chair, marked her page in the book she was reading, and followed him inside.

"What now? Today's been pretty slow," Barbara asked Tom, tossing on a t-shirt over her bathing suit.

"It has, hasn't it? I think I'll work some more on my writing," he replied, taking a seat on the sofa in the cabin's living room.

"Ahh, Thomas Zane, the famous writer and poet," Barbara said in a playful manner, putting her arms around Tom in an embrace. "Got any new ideas?" she asked.

Tom kissed one of her hands and held it close to his chest. "Barbara Jagger, the poet's muse and love," he said in a similarly playful fashion. "I did think of a couple while I was in the water earlier. I might write a nature piece about the lake and the surrounding landscape. I don't know what it is, but there's something special about this lake. I can feel it. You know, the Native Americans that live here thought the waters held some sort of power."

Barbara sat down next to Tom and put an arm around him. "Interesting, I can't wait to read it. Sounds like a refreshing departure from all those fantasy stories you've been doing," she said as she rested her head on his shoulder. Tom felt his heart raise in his chest. Truly, Barbara was the one who kept him sane. When he was here at his cabin out on the lake, with Barbara at his side, every word he typed became a masterpiece. If it weren't for her, he would probably be out on the streets, Tom often thought to himself. He kissed her forehead, got up, and went into the kitchen. The diving had made him hungry.

"You want anything while I'm in here?" he asked.

"Maybe a glass of tea, if you're offering," she said with a smile.

"How did you say you liked it?"

"Dark as the night and sweet as a stolen kiss." she said.

"No milk or cream, 3 sugars, gotcha," he replied with a smirk. "With prose like that, why aren't you the one pumping out these great literary works?" he asked playfully.

"Haha, my aunt told me that one," she said with a hearty laugh. "I'm afraid I don't have much of an artistic side."

"Nonsense. Everybody's artistic in some way. Maybe you just haven't found the right avenue yet," he said, handing her the drink and sitting down next to her. It suddenly went dark.

"Ah hell. The damn fuse box is acting up again," Tom said. He lit a candle and looked down at his watch. 7:57, according to the hands. "It's too late for an electrician to come out here tonight. I'll call somebody tomorrow and get it fixed."

Barbara gulped down the last drops of her tea and set the glass down on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Well, since the power's out and it's too early to go to bed, I'll go work on my writing then," Tom said to Barbara. Barbara followed him up the stairs, to the room with the typewriter that Tom used to write. Adorning the far side of the hallway was a large stuffed bird of prey. The way it was posed, it cast an ominous shadow at the best of times. In an hour like this, in the dark, it unnerved Barbara.

"Why don't you get rid of all these damned stuffed animals?" she asked Tom, visibly scared of the look of the dead animal.

"Their my uncle's. He was always a big hunter. Believe me, I would get rid of them, but who is going to take a stuffed hawk and bear?" he replied.

"Can't we put them somewhere else? Somewhere… Out of the way?" she asked with a shake.

Tom turned and hugged Barbara, sensing her unrest. "I'll move them out, I promise," he said, opening the door to the 'writing room', as Barbara called it.

She didn't say anything, but Tom knew that Barbara was thankful.

An hour and a half passed. Tom stood up from the typewriter and stretched his arms out, relieving the tensed muscles. He turned around and saw Barbara lying down on the small bed nearby. Tom tapped her shoulder and Barbara awoke with an audible gasp.

"Bad dream?" he asked.

"You could say that," she said, rubbing her temple and yawning. "I was running through the forest and being chased by… I think they were people. People shrouded in darkness. I couldn't really tell, they were moving fast and I never managed to get a good view of them in the dark."

"I think I would piss my pants if that happened to me," Tom said with a chuckle. He put his arms around Barbara and hugged her.

"Oh please. I would be terrified to see what your dreams consist of, Mr. Artistic," she said, putting her arms around him in return.

"Oh haha. Come on Barb, let's go to bed. Don't worry, I won't let any forest people get you," Tom said, walking Barbara out the door and into the master bedroom. Behind them, the writing on Tom's typewriter rippled. It read:

_For he did not know, that beyond the lake he called home,_

_ There lied a deeper, and darker ocean green._

_ Where waves are both wilder and serene._

_ To its ports I've been._

_ To its ports I've been._


End file.
